


I ploughed the sea

by AnnaTaure



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Empire of the Hand (Star Wars), Gen, Not A Fix-It, relationship if you squint, the clone lived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaTaure/pseuds/AnnaTaure
Summary: Thrawn's clone survived on Nirauan, and meets Admiral Pellaeon. It does not go as planned.
Relationships: Gilad Pellaeon & Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Voss Parck & Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Voss Parck/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	I ploughed the sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [draculard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/gifts).



After the recent fiasco with the imitator and Major Grodin, Pellaeon had not dared hope he would ever cross paths again with the real Thrawn. Or rather, as he had come to understand, with a clone who had received almost complete memory downloads, only lacking the last month or so of the original's life, a void that Pelleaon had filled with a quick summary of the fateful end of that campaign.

It was eerie, seeing him in the dim light of the chartroom, wearing the black uniform of the Chiss Defence Forces, his angular face illuminated by the soft glow of the holographic display of their sector of the galaxy, looking as if not even time could take a toll on him. Pelleaon could not, alas, say the same for himself. 

Though, as the minutes ticked by and the clone remained silent, Pellaeon felt some of his relief evaporate to be replaced by a newfound tension. Something was wrong. He took a step forward and stopped at once when he saw “Thrawn” shift and tense minutely. 

“Do not fret, Admiral," he said at last. “I still know how to read a map.” 

Pellaeon felt both amused and chastised, as he often did when in presence of the Chiss officer. 

“Though I don't quite understand what you want me to do with it.” 

“Well, the leadership in the New Republic is hesitant at best, as proven by the way they dealt with the whole Caamas business, and I think it is time to retake the offensive.” 

Thrawn turned abruptly, one eyebrow raised, every inch the Grand Admiral he had been a decade prior. 

“And how do you suggest to proceed, Admiral?” 

Before Pellaeon could reply, the clone went on: 

“Had the Imperial territory remained the same as... at the time of my original's death, you would be able to significantly weaken the Republic, or even take the advantage. But” - he waved a hand at the map - “what am I supposed to do with _that_?” 

His finger traced the borders of the Imperial Remnant. 

“You control barely a quarter of your former possessions now and the Empire lost Wayland with all its technology, along with two orbital shipyards, not to mention the defectors. You defend the rest with tactics the Republic knows like the back of its hand, which gives them a certain advantage in battle and diplomatic meetings. A good strategist I might be, but what you require is a miracle, and this I cannot provide. Not on this scale.” 

He cast another glance at the hologram and shook his head, before heading for the door. 

“Where are you going?” Pellaeon demanded, a tone he would have never used with the late Grand Admiral. 

“I have nothing more to offer you, sir,” Thrawn replied evenly. “Before Rukh's betrayal, I did my best to teach you all I knew to make sure in case of... my demise, your would be adequately equipped to treat the issue at hand. It appears I have been, for once, overly optimistic. So I am going home.” 

Pellaeon was so floored that he did not even think to prevent the other man from leaving. His sparse luggage had not been brought from the shuttle yet, so in a matter of twenty minutes, it was as if he had never been aboard. 

*** 

“And that's how I came back,” Thrawn concluded, his fingers tight around a mug of steaming tea. 

Across the table, Parck made a face. If they could not count on the Imperial fleet, they would be forced to modify a good deal of their plans. 

“Well, that was one poor investment indeed,” he admitted. “Thank the Maker, we managed to pick enough bright individuals to make the Hand a success. Mostly from the Imperial Remnant, by the way, but we got a few independents as well. And the Republic is getting the hang of it, finally.” 

“Most certainly,” Thrawn agreed. “And yet... I had hoped...” 

Parck reached to cover his stiff fingers with his own. The Chiss did not withdraw his hand. 

“I know you're disappointed. To be honest, so am I. But we're not in a perfect simulation, and we have to accept that some things are out of our control.” 

Thrawn sighed, finally raising his gaze from the depths of his tea. 

“Thank you. I can only hope it will be enough. We will find out soon, anyway.” 

He let go of the mug to briefly squeeze Parck's wrist. The man smiled encouragingly, as the clone sometimes seemed hesitant with social interactions. 

“We will manage,” he said warmly. “As we always do.” 

He raised his caf in a toast, at last prompting a small smile on Thrawn's austere face. 

“I will take that bet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Simon Bolivar.


End file.
